


Having Some Work Done

by Vulgarweed



Series: Neither Side Created Kink Memes [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Feather-plucking, Grooming, M/M, Massage, Seduction, Wings, feathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale's wings are a mess. What Crowley is doing to fix that might make them worse in the long run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Having Some Work Done

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Good Omens Kink Meme, June 1 2009
> 
> **Prompt:** _Crowley/Aziraphale, wing related kink, if this could involve plucking, I'd love you forever._

"Your feathers are in _atrocious_ condition," Crowley confided beneath his wine-scented breath. He hadn't seen them for many centuries, and he trembled to think that Aziraphale had narrowly escaped dying in a shamefully unkempt version of his true form.

Aziraphale had flinched, and taken it much the same way a human friend would to a revelation of spinach between the teeth.

Well, almost the same way - considering that the condition of the angel's wings was not something that could be quickly and discreetly taken care of with a pass of a fingernail in the pub's loo.

No. It would take trust. It would take Aziraphale removing his shirt in front of a demon's hazy yellow gaze, and...

"The undershirt has to go, too, Aziraphale," said Crowley, swigging more wine.

Aziraphale started to say he couldn't imagine why, then realised that actually, he could, and decided to just obey without making the situation even more awkward.

"You should probably just lie down before you whip them out," Crowley said. "You're less likely to knock things over. There. On the bed. Just imagine I'm a fetching young masseur you've hired."

Crowley's goal was clearly not to put Aziraphale at ease. The angel was going to imagine no such thing.

"Alright then," Crowley said leeringly as Aziraphale grudgingly lay down on his belly. "Spread 'em."

Resigned, Aziraphale sighed and did so.

That couldn't have been a sharp intake of breath he heard from Crowley, was it? Really, why did that demon insist on such displays of physicality? Aziraphale thought it was quite vulgar.

Aziraphale could only see bits of his wings in his peripheral vision, but not much had changed so far as he could see - the stiff primaries dangling far past the edge of the mattress were still that cream-shading-to-tan they'd always been, and the secondaries visible south of his armpit still blue.

Crowley didn't even start on the feathers, the minx. He started on skin - the smooth, muscle-laden strip of it down the center of Aziraphale's back, stiff and nearly hard as bone beneath. With a grunt, Crowley pressed the palms of his hands into the knotted muscle, wrestling the cords beneath the skin as Aziraphale groaned.

"You haven't had this done in centuries, have you?" he scolded.

Aziraphale just made a short sound into the pillow so he wouldn't have to admit he had never had this done before at all. Crowley's hands left him, and Aziraphale was about to object until they returned, slick with herb-scented oil.

Crowley worked his way up to the back of the angel's neck - and Aziraphale could feel that breath again, warm and quickening, and then back down, fingers tugging lightly at his sides until they zoomed in on the place where his first feathers started, at the back of his ribs. Aziraphale made a sound that embarrassed him as Crowley's fingers started to separate and individuate the trembling quills, combing through them and tugging lightly to sort out the ones that were faded and worn. The hands moved up each wing until Crowley's arms had reached their full stretching point.

Aziraphale felt a shifting and twisting on the mattress, and then was startled by what seemed like Crowley's full weight settling directly on his rump.

"Comfortable," Crowley said appreciatively. "Well-padded."

Aziraphale huffed.

"Meant it as a compliment," muttered Crowley. "Really."

Aziraphale thought it would be easier if Crowley would stop _shifting._ Stop nudging his hips just so as he reached out further along the wings, and clucked in disdain at feathers that had no hope.

Aziraphale cried out in sudden shock as one was plucked.

Nerves fired along the sensitive skin where the dead feather had been, living cells reacting and buzzing all along his spine, and to places where they really should have held no clout at all, considering.

Crowley sucked in his breath, and pulled again, sharply, another.

Aziraphale writhed and gave a helpless sound, involuntary movements of his hips under Crowley's weight giving away his reaction.

Crowley sighed, and with each tug Aziraphale went further and further into a sort of lala land he'd only read about before.

"Alright, I think that's done it for this side," Crowley said. "Now pull them in carefully and turn over."

"I can't," Aziraphale blurted into the pillow, his hips still pressing into the mattress beneath him. That had done it. Now he had to find an excuse, or else he would have to explain, or worse, show....

Crowley managed to sound exasperated in utter silence. With a soft hissing breath he moved his hips again, leaning far far forward over Aziraphale's neck, and blowing gently, the moist trail of forked tongue being most suggestive and imperious. "I haven't come this far to leave the job half done," he said. Rather authoritatively, all things considered. "And frankly, I don't think you want things.... _unfinished."_

With this Aziraphale bit the pillow in helpless frustration and did as he was told. The forward underside of his wings were even more sensitive, attached to ticklish bits, and worst of all, he wouldn't find it quite so easy to hide the reaction in his trousers.

To Crowley's credit, the demon only stared, unblinking, and yet smiling. Smiling like a snake, he straddled Aziraphale again and gave him a little grind. Aziraphale lifted his hand to his mouth and bit it as Crowley began to groom the sensitive feathers beneath the "arm" of the wing, once again plucking hopeless specimens. Aziraphale writhed as he watched Crowley lift one removed quill, red at its tip with one perfect drop of blood, and lick it clean.

"You like this," Crowley said redundantly.

"Yes," Aziraphale sighed.

"That can't be comfortable," Crowley said, looking down at Aziraphale's trousers and squeezing the angel's hips with his thighs, running a finger down the fly and vanishing all the cloth with a touch. Aziraphale just stared as Crowley gave an appreciative grin, fingertip down the length of the underside of his cock. And then the feather, its delicate tip teasing the heated skin with just a hint of... _oh please._

Crowley inched downward, quill in his teeth, brushing nipple and belly and finally...stroking the hypersensitised skin of Aziraphale's erection with the feather, hair tickling Aziraphale's belly and hands pushing his thighs apart.

As Aziraphale shivered under the cruel teasing, Crowley gave a little chuckle and dropped the feather from his teeth, opening his mouth to take in something much needier, and reaching up as he did so to pull one, two, three more dead feathers. Aziraphale thrust upward into his mouth helplessly with each calculated pluck.

_I'll tie his hands next time,_ Crowley thought as Aziraphale convulsively yanked his hair.


End file.
